


Moonbeams

by Suarna



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Gen, he just thinks about his feelings, just a bit sad i guess, nothing dangerous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 11:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21507493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suarna/pseuds/Suarna
Summary: Brian shouldn't probably be let to sit on his own and maybe go to therapy, sounds like a good idea
Kudos: 11





	Moonbeams

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jean Permentier's 'Moonbeams' because this is what I imagine Brian would be listening to uhh  
> I don't really write, so this is just a little something, feel free to drag me loves

He was looking outside for a long time, sat on a narrow windowsill. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but the fresh winter air, equally gratifying and numbing, was enough of a distraction from his body that he didn't mind. It was close to dawn, but the sky hasn't lightened at all yet.  
Those were the moments he cherished the most, when he didn't feel obligated to put up any performances, be it for others or for himself. He could just sit there, letting the frozen wind bite into his skin unnecessarily, sink into it and find a place to rest in his bones.  
Only at those times he felt pure, calm, as if he was just a presence without a body to weigh him down, to crudely announce his existence and to be seen from all the angles he didn't want anyone to look at. Without a body that seemed to house so many of his minds that it would burst someday, burdened by his acquaintances' visions and expectations of him, which he so carefully manufactured, one mannerism at a time. Making it look like he cared, because he had for a long time, until he became unable to. He soaked up every drop of sadness, of envy, every tiny and big problem and now he was just-  
He didn't feel full, even though he probably should. It was just sitting below his sternum, a dull weight letting him know that he doesn't have much compassion to spare, or at least not genuine one. His chest tightened around the weight, making it a little bit harder to breathe, even with this delightful cold air, as it brushed down his throat and made his bronchi light up. Every deep breath he forced himself to take filled him up to the brim, and he would let it stay inside for a while and would feel his heart beat against the weight until it broke down in tiny pieces that he exhaled towards the sky. He wished they would never come back, but knew they would settle again in their usual place, no matter what he did. Sometimes, he was sure he would never really feel again.  
He slipped from the window, building a steel scaffolding in his insides to protect his organs. Maybe it will be enough to survive this day.


End file.
